The Fallen, The Lost, The Hunters
by D Willims
Summary: Various one-shots/drabbles about the 104th Training Corps. Latest: Reality. Was any of it even real? The Lonely One. She's just a shell now, filled up with everything Ymir left behind.
1. Reality: Annie

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Attack on Titan_ universe.

**Characters:** Annie  
**Rating:** K+  
**Summary:** Was any of it ever real?  
**Word Count:** 79

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**Reality**

"Was any of it ever real?"

When she tries to sort everything out, she keeps coming back to those three years—the way Mina's smile lit up the whole room, the rhythm of sparring with Eren, the stories they shared over campfires, the first time she'd ever seen Reiner and Bertholt relax, the good times, the bad, the things that were clearest in her mind, and the destruction of it all. She closes her eyes and she whispers, "No."


	2. The Lonely One: KristaHistoria

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Attack on Titan_ universe.

**Characters:** Krista/Historia, Connie, Jean  
**Relationships:** Krista/Historia x Ymir, Connie x Krista/Historia  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** She's just a shell now, filled up with everything Ymir left behind.  
**Word Count:** 809

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**The Lonely One**

So, that was it, then. Everything was out on the table. Everyone knew. And they had dutifully looked away, anywhere but at her. Had talked about everything else, anything else when she was in the room. Until, eventually, she had just left.

But she couldn't sit still. Even now, she could still feel the way Ymir touched her, the way Ymir kissed her. Each remembered touch hit her with bruising force. Made her skin ache and her bones creak.

Not all the bruises were in her mind.

They came around the corner at the same time. Collided in a tangle of sore and tired limbs. She winced and wrapped her arm around her aching ribs.

"I'm sorry," Connie said as he scrambled to his feet. He took a hold of her free arm and pulled her to her feet as well. There was something about the way he touched her; gentle and cautious like he was afraid of breaking her. "Are you alright?" His eyes were so brown as he searched her face. "Krista…"

"Don't." She shook her head violently, pulled her arm from his grip. "Please, don't call me that."

"Alright." Connie took hold of her arm again. "Historia, then. Are you okay, Historia?" He said her name slowly and carefully, as if it were foreign on his tongue. It sounded foreign to her ears.

Part of her wanted to scream not to call her that, either. That she didn't have a name at all, anymore. She was nothing.

She nodded. "I'm fine," she lied.

They were quiet for a long moment. Just the two of them in the hall, looking at each other. There was still that hint of a comforting and hopeful warmth in his eyes; he hadn't lost that yet. It was just hidden under the hollow sleeplessness and sadness of trauma. She wished she was like him.

His hand was still on her elbow, anchoring her to this spot.

Another impulse overtook her. The wild and reckless one that had always governed Ymir's actions; the person she'd been with Ymir. She reached her free hand up and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down to her. Connie had opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost in the hot press of lips against lips.

There was a moment where he didn't move, didn't do anything. Then his hands fell to her hips. He pulled her against him, until there was no space between them.

It wasn't like it was with Ymir. Connie was fumbling and awkward, unsure and careful. But his fingers traced over the same familiar paths. Over her hips then under her shirt, along her spine and across her ribs. She shivered and, for a moment, wished he'd hurt her, too. Make her bruises real.

Connie pulled away. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"I'm fine," she murmured. Desperately, she kissed him again. She needed this. To have someone hold her, again. For someone to want her just the way she was. Even Ymir couldn't give her that. Her hands found Connie's on her waist, tangling their fingers together. "Come on," she murmured against his lips. Then she tugged him back towards her room. "Stay with me, tonight."

Jean caught her alone the next morning. His hand clamped around her wrist and he dragged her around the corner. To a quiet place where no one could see them or hear them or stumble upon them.

For the first time in a long time, he looked at her. Into her eyes.

"I swear, if you break his heart…" Jean hissed at her. Typical big brother threat. "Hasn't he been through enough already?"

He jerked her arm as he talked, probably without even realizing it. But, for a moment, she wondered if he was trying to rip her apart. She clutched at her shoulder with her free hand, either way, certain he'd wrenched good. Or maybe it had been Ymir only hours ago.

"Haven't I?" she asked quietly. "Connie gets to keep you. And what about me? Who's looking out for my heart?" She doesn't cry, though she felt like she should. Crying never got her anywhere.

Not that there's anywhere left for her to go. This is it. End of the line.

A thousand emotions flitted across Jean's face. In one seamless motion, he flinched away like he'd been slapped and opened his mouth to snap a retort. Anything he could have or would have said died on lips. Finally, he settled on yanking her against his chest. He wasn't gentle about it, but he folded his arms around her and rested his cheek against her hair.

Slowly, she brought her arms up around him, clenched her fists in his shirt. Clung to him like a drowning man to a life raft. "Don't give up on me," she whispered.


End file.
